


the l.a. lifestyle could use some work

by thescrewtapedemos



Category: US Comedians RPF
Genre: M/M, Zombie Apocalypse, don't read if you're interested in being missed by that gay shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 09:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12678789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos
Summary: Contains: golfDoes not contain: flips and shit





	the l.a. lifestyle could use some work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [portonroblavski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/portonroblavski/gifts).



> first of all, none of this would be possible without portonroblavski, so this one goes out to him. second of all, j&b, that was MY fic with the dillon doing flips and shit, thank you. thirdly, enjoy
> 
> xoxo

“What do you, like, miss,” Brandon asks thoughtfully and lines up his shot. 

The zombie snaps at him weakly. Even with a crushed upper body and an absent lower half it’s still trying to drag itself forward. Brandon spares a moment to be sympathetic. Mondays, he feels it. 

It’s like, probably a Monday. 

“About the Before?” Jack asks idly. He’s leaning on his club casually, legs crossed at the ankle, thighs straining the glorious golf pants they’d liberated from the looted golf course gift shop. 

“Obviously,” Brandon says and pulls back his club in the closest he can approximate to a golfer’s pose. “Fore.” 

“Nice _shot_ ,” Jack says appreciatively as the zombie’s jaw sails out over the brown grass of the decaying course. The zombie groans pitifully and Brandon brings the club down again mercifully. 

“Thanks,” Brandon preens and gestures towards their golf cart. There’s a trio of shambling bodies headed for them across the ninth hole and they’ve nearly reached the starting area. “Shall we? Looks like the ball boys are here.” 

“Let’s,” Jack says and swingings up into the cart. 

They spend a few minute playing bumper cars with the zombies, knocking them over and then reversing back and forth over them until the sound of rotting bones giving way has mostly died down. 

“Juice,” Jack says at last, as they pile out of the cart and use a rake they’d salvaged from the groundskeeper’s shed to pull the heads and their snapping jaws out from under the cart. “I miss juice. I’d kill a smoothie, y’know? Never thought I’d miss L.A. juicing culture.” 

“Let’s hit up the mall later,” Brandon offers offhandedly, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulder and leaning against him. “Bet there’s a juicer in Bed Bath & Beyond, we can find some fruit trees somewhere. It’s California.” 

Jack leans down to press chapped lips to Brandon’s temple, soft and rough and chaste. 

“Best ideas, babe.” 

“Oh, I fuckin’ know it,” Brandon says and gestures down at the decapitated zombie heads, their filmy pale eyes rolling to track their voices. “Your turn.” 

Jack pulls away to line up a shot, laughing as he goes. Brandon misses him as soon as he’s gone, body warmth going cold. He stays where he is though. The view from where he’s standing, as Jack leans a little to line up his shot, is pretty nice. 

“Hard to believe L.A.’s _improved_ with the zombie apocalypse,” Jack observes and pulls back to take the shot.


End file.
